


in the wee small hours

by vlieger



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlieger/pseuds/vlieger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe can see the slope of one closed eyelid, the sweet curve of his lashes against his cheek. He stares until Finn's breathing evens out; until Finn goes hazy in his own vision and he drops off with his fingers curled between Finn's shoulder blades, comforted and content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the wee small hours

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to [ellot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ellot) for beta :)

**i.**

Being in the Resistance doesn't allow for routines so much as a shifting miasma of negligible reliability. Routines are dangerous when plans can shift at a moment's notice, when everything depends so much on forces outside of themselves. They suck you out of the now, get you lost in the repetitiveness rather than being awake and aware of where and when you are, of what you're here to do. 

It's different whenever he finally makes it off the ground in his X-Wing, finally has a focused objective-- everything then is mapped out, a straight line from start to finish.

Even if he has to improvise, it's familiar and unconscious.

A microcosm of productive routine inside the larger picture.

Right now they are in stasis, waiting-- waiting for information, waiting for Rey and Luke Skywalker, waiting to jump into action. It's a conscious effort to avoid the weakness of routines even as they unavoidably develop. To keep the reality of day to day functioning from growing plaque, creating a mental quicksand. There are scouting and intelligence missions. There is training. There are daily briefings and meals and sleep, and there is Finn.

Finn, who is still asleep, and whose intrusion into Poe's routine is not so much a sand trap as it is a call to action, to be better and faster and stronger. To be ready, and _present._

Here and now and tomorrow, too. 

To be in this moment even as he yearns for the next, for a new day and something different, something more, even if it only begins with a flutter of lashes and the bright gleam of wakening eyes.

You learn, being in the Resistance, that big things start from almost nothing. 

That nothing _is_ nothing.

Least of all Finn, who Poe has known barely at all and yet all his life, it feels like.

Who matters, and matters to Poe, which should probably be the same thing and yet aren't, not even close.

It doesn't bother him. He's a pilot, he works on instinct, and if instinct tells him that Finn is special, that Finn is _his_ , then he's not going to question. He'll go with it.

It feels true, anyway, any way he looks at it.

The marginally comfortable chair at Finn's bedside feels worn to his shape, just like the seat in his X-Wing. The doctors and nurses and medical droids shuffle around him like he's part of the furniture, and no one says a word when he stays well after dark, when he slips back in after the evening meal in the cafeteria and settles with his feet balanced on the edge of Finn's bed and his fingers tucked under Finn's warm hand, silently watching his chest rise and fall.

Finn's spine is healed, they've told him, his skin knitted back together. His body is relearning itself, righting itself, fighting its way towards consciousness. He will wake, sooner or later.

They weren't so sure of that, at the start. Then, Poe couldn't sleep, not in his quarters and not even at Finn's bedside. He didn't want to inadvertently miss a breath that might be Finn's last.

Now, he curls his hand around Finn's, soothed by the steady promise of his beating pulse, fits his head against the curve of Finn's hip beneath the sheets, and sleeps.

 

 **ii.**

There is an elastic band around Poe's head. He tries to claw at it but his wrists are tied down, clamped by his sides with unbreakable steel. Even if he could use his hands, he realises, it wouldn't make a difference, because the band is _inside_ his head. It's stretching tighter and tighter, pulled by something he can't see, an agonising sense of too much, too much. It feels like he's bleeding without any blood, this unbearable tug on something more than just his flesh, on _himself_ , on everything intangible that makes him who he is. The band is going to snap, he knows, like they always do when you pull past the breaking point, and that will be the end of it. He won't survive it; he's already fading at the edges, wrenched out of himself, and in a moment he'll explode into nothing, all this pain culminating in a fiery sting before it's just gone, and-- 

"Poe!"

He gasps, jerking upright, and collides painfully with Finn, forehead against forehead.

"Ow," mutters Finn, rubbing his brows.

"What?" says Poe muzzily, blinking. "Finn?"

"I think you were having a nightmare," says Finn quietly, dropping his hand to peer at Poe. "You sounded like-- like you were in pain, so. I woke you up? Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"No, I-- " Poe shakes his head. It throbs slightly, but it's-- it's a different pain, a better pain, one he'll be able to see tomorrow, probably, and that will fade. Innocent and laughable. "It's fine."

"Okay," says Finn. "Are you? Fine, I mean."

"Yeah," says Poe, breathing out. "It was just a nightmare."

"Nightmares are bad," says Finn, soft, like he knows.

"Yeah," says Poe again. "Thanks for waking me."

Finn nods. "You will be," he says firmly. "Fine, I mean."

Poe feels his mouth quirk. It's true, he will be, but it's good to hear it out loud anyway.

Especially from Finn.

"Of course," he says, smiling at Finn. It's not hard to do, and he can already feel the most visceral parts of the nightmare fading into a vague, watery distance. It will come back, but it's easier to be okay with it when he knows it will go away again, too, and further each time.

When in the end, he knows it's worth what he gets on the other side.

Finn smiles back and starts to stand from where he's perched on the edge of Poe's cot, making towards his own across the room, the one Poe had set up for him when he left the medbay.

Poe reaches out, catching hold of Finn's wrist. "Hey," he says. "Stay."

It's pure instinct, to ask, but he hopes abruptly that Finn doesn't ask _why_ , because it's too much to put into words, especially now, still half asleep. Finn doesn't, though, just smiles at Poe and twists his hand to tangle their fingers together instead. "Okay," he whispers, and crawls under the covers beside Poe, resting their joined hands on Poe's chest and tucking his head against Poe's shoulder. Poe feels warm, calm, and falls into an easy, dreamless sleep. 

 

**iii.**

The next time Poe wakes in the middle of the night, it's not from his own dreams.

It's Finn, thrashing and groaning in his cot across the room.

Poe climbs out of bed and pads over to him, settling on the edge of Finn's and grabbing a gentle hold of his arms to still the thrashing. "Finn," he says clearly. "Hey, Finn."

Finn mutters something unintelligible and groans again.

"Finn," says Poe, louder.

Finn jerks his head to the side and blinks, breathing hard. 

"Hey," says Poe, quieter. "You awake?"

"Yeah," says Finn, voice thick. "I-- sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," says Poe easily. He lets go of Finn's arms and lifts the covers off of him, maneuvering himself underneath and then tugging them up again. He settles against Finn's side and slides a hand upwards along his chest, stopping to rest over his fast-beating heart.

"What-- what are you doing?" says Finn.

"I'm returning the favour, buddy," says Poe, nudging Finn's shoulder with his nose.

Finn huffs a quiet laugh. "Okay," he whispers.

"Okay," says Poe. "Go to sleep."

Finn does.

 

**iv.**

They've been sharing a room for almost a month when Poe first takes Finn into the trees where the Resistance has set up a makeshift bar. Finn looks with wonder at the twinkling lights nestled in the branches, the tables circled off to the sides, the space cleared for people to dance. There's a cheerful crowd and music twisted up in the hum of laughter and conversation.

"It's beautiful," Finn breathes, craning his neck to take in everything, eyes wide.

 _You're beautiful_ , Poe wants to say. "Thirsty?" he says instead. 

"I guess?" says Finn, turning his eyes onto Poe.

Poe grins and leads him towards the bar. 

"What is this?" says Finn when Poe nudges a tall, foaming glass of ale in front of him.

"Corellian ale," says Poe. "It comes spiced, too. We'll get you one of those next, see which one you like better. We'll ease you onto the whiskey. Maybe next time."

Finn just blinks at him, then down at the glass, then takes a tentative sip. "Oh!" he says, face clearing. He grins. "Okay, this is kind of awesome. I like this."

"Yeah?" says Poe, beaming. "Good. Come on, let's find a table."

Finn follows him to the table where he spots Snap and Jess and a couple other pilots from a different squadron, already several drinks deep, if the empty glasses are any indication.

"Commander!" shouts Jess, raising her drink in salute. "And Finn! Our new favourite."

Finn laughs as he settles into a seat beside Poe. "Hi, guys."

"First time out drinking?" Snap asks him. They've all become pretty well acquainted since Finn was discharged from the medbay. He spends as much time as he can in the hangar when they're working on repairs or training, incorporating it as part of his physical therapy. At first it was almost all the time, but lately a little less so. He's been working on training of his own, strong enough now to do so, and hashing things out with General Organa, finding his place here. Poe senses his guys have missed Finn. Mostly because he has, too, and also because who in their right mind wouldn't.

"Yeah," says Finn, nodding. 

"About time," says Jess. "We thought Poe might be keeping you all to himself."

Poe kicks her under the table. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Possibly he needs to do something about the maturity levels in his squadrons, his own included.

"I don't think my doctors would've liked if I'd come any earlier," says Finn, thankfully seeming to have missed that exchange. "I haven't been off the painkillers for very long."

Jess nods wisely. "Yeah, I made that mistake once. The docs almost killed me, _and_ I hallucinated for about three hours. I thought our Commander here had suddenly grown a head like Admiral Ackbar. It wasn't very flattering. The hair was all-- " She makes an incomprehensible gesture.

Poe rolls his eyes. 

"It was pretty funny," says Snap. "You were so sad. Poe was so offended."

"Well, it was a shame!" says Jess vehemently. "It's a nice head. You should keep it."

"Thanks," says Poe dryly. "I'll consider it."

Finn laughs helplessly, shaking his head and leaning into Poe. "You guys are nuts," he says.

"We're awesome," says Poe, feeling his eyes crease in an answering smile.

"We are," agrees Jess. "I mean, completely crazy, sure, but also awesome."

Finn grins wide. "I like it," he says.

Jess waggles her eyebrows at Poe. He kicks her again. Maturity can wait until tomorrow.

"More drinks?" asks Snap.

The table at large choruses a cheer.

"Okay, okay." He grins, standing, and nudges Poe. "Come on, boss, help me carry."

"I don't think it works like that," says Poe, standing even as he says it. "You know, me being your boss."

"Yeah, yeah," says Snap, heading towards the bar.

Poe squeezes Finn's shoulder. "I'll get spiced this time, okay?"

"Sure," says Finn, tipping his head back to smile at him

When they get back with the drinks Finn has a glass of something distressingly blue in his hand, sipping at it curiously while Jess encourages him. It looks almost phosphorescent.

"That looks dangerous," he comments, taking his seat.

"It's kinda tasty," says Finn, shrugging.

"What is it?" Poe asks Jess.

"It's blue!" she says, dragging a glass of ale towards herself.

Poe snorts. "Okay," he says agreeably. "Here, buddy." He hands Finn a glass of his own.

"Thanks," says Finn. He tips back the last of the blue thing and chases it with a mouthful of ale.

"Thoughts?" says Poe.

Finn hums. "My mouth still tastes blue," he says after a moment's thought. "Hang on."

He takes another, longer drink of the ale.

"Oh," he says. "Okay, that's better. It's good!"

"Good," echoes Poe, settling back in his chair and knocking his ankle against Finn's.

They while away a few more drinks each, lazy conversation and easy laughter, Poe's arm stretched across the back of Finn's chair. Every time Poe shifts his thumb brushes the back of Finn's shoulder; it's mostly incidental, but he doesn't make any moves to avoid it. Their ankles are still pressed together, Poe's extended leg against Finn's, and Poe wonders idly whether Finn _knows_ , whether it feels the same way in his chest or whether it's just-- 

"Hey," says Finn, elbowing him. "Why are they doing that?" He nods at the crowd of people dancing.

"Dancing?" says Poe. He shrugs. "Because they're happy, and it's fun."

"Oh," says Finn, nodding slowly. He looks like he's mulling it over for a moment, and then he says, "Can you show me?"

Poe laughs. "Sure, buddy," he says, tipping back the last of his most recent ale and standing. He holds out his hand to Finn, who takes it with a smile. Snap wolf-whistles. Poe cuffs him around the back of the head before he wades into the throng with Finn.

"What was _that?_ " says Finn.

"That," says Poe, "Was Snap being a moron. You'll get used to it."

"I hope so," says Finn quietly.

Poe smiles and tugs Finn a little closer, so he doesn't get bowled over by the enthusiastically flailing couple behind him. "Ready to dance?" he asks, with a roguish wink.

Finn nods eagerly.

"Okay," says Poe. "You hear that, the drums?" He taps out the rhythm with his fingers on Finn's biceps. "All you have to do is move in time with the beat. It doesn't have to be graceful, or look good." He nods at the people milling and writhing around them. "Just have fun."

"Okay," says Finn with determination.

He starts moving, still standing close to Poe. He's a little self-conscious at first, jerky and hesitant, movements contained, held in close to his body, but it's not long before he's grinning and throwing his arms to the side, hips swaying smoothly and feet tapping. Poe matches his enthusiasm; it's impossible not to. Finn is like that, effortlessly charming. On impulse he grabs Finn's hand, guiding him into a spin. Finn whoops delightedly. Poe's insides feel hot.

They dance until they're flushed and sweating, breathing hard. When the latest song fades to quiet, just before the next one starts up, Poe leans close enough to be heard and says, "Drink?"

"Yes, please," says Finn. "I'm definitely thirsty now."

They get two more ales and take them to a quieter spot beneath a tree, rather than rejoining the table. Finn leans back against the trunk, a contented uptick to his mouth, and Poe sprawls in the grass beside him. It's nice; cool against his heated skin, that fresh, soothing green smell.

They drink in comfortable silence. Finn slumps lower and lower against the trunk in correlation with the dipping surface of his drink, until it's empty and he's level with Poe, a thigh half-slung over one of Poe's. "Kinda tired," he mumbles, blinking with a slow shudder.

Poe twists so he can curl an arm across Finn's shoulders and tug him so most of his weight is resting against Poe rather than the rough bark of the tree. He smells good, too, fresh sweat and residual hints of motor oil mingled with the crushed grass. Poe likes this even better. 

Finn sighs and fists a hand in the front of Poe's shirt. "This was nice," he says. "I like dancing."

"Good," says Poe.

"I like the ale, too," adds Finn, yawning.

"Of course you do," says Poe.

Finn snorts, a little half-huff of a laugh, and turns his face into Poe's chest. 

Poe can see the slope of one closed eyelid, the sweet curve of his lashes against his cheek. He stares until Finn's breathing evens out; until Finn goes hazy in his own vision and he drops off with his fingers curled between Finn's shoulder blades, comforted and content.

 

 **v.**

Sometimes Poe just can't sleep. Not because of any nightmare, and it doesn't happen often without cause, but every now and then it eludes him and he finds himself blinking with stinging eyes at the dark ceiling in his quarters, tired and frustrated and desperate for rest.

When it does happen he goes to the silent hangar and sits on the concrete beneath his X-Wing, leaning against one of the supports. He likes the echoing quiet, the familiar shape of his craft, the permeating smell of motor oil and burned rubber. He finds it peaceful. It's easy to just _be_ , here, to not think or worry, to let the frustration of an inexplicable sleepless night melt out of him.

He isn't sure how long he sits there this time, eyes closed and head tilted back, thinking about nothing in particular. He's brought back into awareness by the sound of footfalls, loud even from a distance in the cavernous space. He doesn't move; it's not hard to guess who's looking for him.

"Poe?" says Finn when he's close, ducking to squint at him.

"Hi," says Poe, smiling tiredly.

"I woke up and you were gone," says Finn. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, buddy, just couldn't sleep," says Poe.

"Oh," says Finn. "Nightmares?"

"Not this time," says Poe. "No reason, really. I guess it happens sometimes." He shrugs.

Finn nods slowly. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No," says Poe, because he never wants Finn to leave him alone.

Finn's smile is sweet and bright in the darkness. "Okay," he says, and shuffles closer, until he's sitting beside Poe. Poe shifts to the side so they can each lean a shoulder on the support. Finn yawns and scrubs the sleep from his eyes; he must still be fresh out of bed.

"How'd you know where to find me?" asks Poe, tilting a glance at him.

"It's you," says Finn blankly.

Poe wants to kiss him then, sharply and viscerally. He always does, but the tug in his chest is almost unbearable in this moment, the steep swoop of pure affection in his belly. 

It's a lot, and it's undeniable, and he thinks, if Finn belongs to him, he belongs to Finn just as completely. The thought of being tied to someone like this has always frightened him a little, but he understands now why people say it's different when you meet the right person. It doesn't frighten him at all, because being tied to Finn is not being tied down; it's wonderful and exhilarating and brimming with endless possibility, makes his palms itch with anticipation and his heart beat faster, his stomach light and weightless. Exactly like flying. Every feeling he loves most about it.

Of course he loves Finn. Finn is so many good things that Poe can't help loving him, and if loving him feels like this then it can only mean it's right, because this feeling is-- he knows it, and he knows that he belongs in the cockpit just as surely as he knows he belongs with Finn.

Poe swallows, and breathes out, and says, "You sure _you_ don't wanna go back to bed?"

"Not if you're staying here," says Finn, easy and devastatingly honest.

Poe nudges his shoulder, one of those moments where something is so huge you can only respond in the weakest way. He can do better, he's sure, when it's not quite so late at night, and he isn't so blindsided by tiredness and overwhelming, fizzing affection.

Finn doesn't seem to mind. He twines his fingers with Poe's and rests their joined hands in the valley between their pressed-together thighs, drops his head onto Poe's shoulder, and they sit there quietly until the weak dawn light starts filtering into the cracks and openings of the hangar.

 

 **vi.**

Poe returns to his quarters from an unforgivably late meeting expecting Finn to be long-since asleep. He slips inside as quietly as he can, but Finn is awake, sitting up in bed, the room dim as he reads from a datapad. He's been working on learning every bit of history he can, soaking it up with wonder, and Poe supposes, fondly, that he should've expected this. 

Finn looks up at him with a smile.

"How goes the education?" says Poe, shrugging off his jacket and foregoing his own bed to sink onto Finn's with a relieved groan.

"There's so many heroes," says Finn, looking back at the datapad. "They did so many incredible things."

Poe nods. "You'll be on there, soon enough," he says. "You're a hero, too."

Finn ducks his head. "Yeah, well," he mumbles. "So are you."

Poe laughs and shifts closer to Finn. He feels light and invincible, as he reaches up to stroke a thumb down Finn's cheek and marvels at this extraordinary, beautiful man he gets to have in his life now. "I like you better than anyone, you know," he says, voice gone hoarse.

Finn blinks at him, swallows. "I've been reading a lot. Talking to people," he says.

Poe says, "Okay?" not sure where he's going.

"I'm pretty sure I love you," says Finn.

"Oh," says Poe, chest seizing up, because he's never heard anyone say that to him and felt like _this_ , never wanted it at all, nevermind with such fierce, aching intensity. This is Finn, though: always the exception. Always extraordinary. 

"Is that okay?" asks Finn carefully.

"Yeah," says Poe, rough. "Yeah, buddy. It's okay. It's great."

Finn smiles, slow and brilliant, and says, with determination, "I'm going to kiss you now."

It's fair warning, but Poe realises when Finn's mouth touches his that nothing could have prepared him for this, for Finn's curious, fierce, clumsy perfection of a kiss. His hands come up to tangle in Poe's hair and when Poe opens his mouth he makes a shocked, wanting noise, pressing closer.  
Poe is still sprawled across the bed with his back against the wall; Finn is on his knees, the hard bones of them pressing into Poe's thigh as he strains towards him, not near enough.

"Hey," mumbles Poe into the kiss, folding a hand over Finn's knee. "Hey, c'mere."

Finn makes a noise into his mouth-- Poe isn't sure whether it's confusion or frustration or need, maybe all three, but he tightens his fingers and tugs a little and Finn shifts his leg on instinct, slinging it across Poe to straddle his thighs. 

"There you go," says Poe, sliding his hand up to hold Finn's hip and cupping the other under the base of Finn's skull, angling his head to kiss him deeper, hotter.

Finn shuffles in close until their chests are pressed together, until everything is pressed together, and Poe can feel him, hard against his belly, shifting mindlessly, restless.

"Oh," gasps Finn, sliding his mouth over the curve of Poe's bottom lip. "I-- can I-- "

"Anything," says Poe. 

Finn tugs on Poe's hair until his head is tipped back, baring his throat, and then puts his mouth on the underside of his jaw, kissing a line from his chin to his ear. Poe shudders. Finn's mouth is soft and wet and eager, and he whispers, "Wanted to do that, wanted-- when I look at you-- "

"Yeah?" says Poe. "So I should definitely keep this head, huh?"

Finn snorts. "I mean," he says, pulling back to grin at Poe, bright as any sun Poe's seen, and he's seen a lot, "I definitely don't want to do this with Admiral Ackbar, so."

Poe drops his head onto Finn's shoulder and laughs helplessly. "Buddy," he says, as Finn strokes a hand through his hair, "That's great news, but how 'bout we don't mention him in bed again?"

"Okay," agrees Finn easily. "Can you take your shirt off?"

"Wanted this too?" says Poe as he flings his shirt carelessly across the room.

Finn's eyes drop to his chest. He swallows. "After you've washed up, and you're wet, I-- I want to _lick_ you." Poe sucks in a breath, and Finn's eyes dart up to his. "Is that-- is that normal?"

"Uh," says Poe. "For me specifically, or in general?"

"I don't-- both?" says Finn.

"Well," says Poe, grinning slowly, "I couldn't tell you how many people want to lick me specifically, but I can tell you it's a totally normal thing to want. You know, with people you like."

"Love," corrects Finn, leaning in to kiss Poe's mouth as he slides a hand up his chest.

"Love," agrees Poe, choked, as Finn's fingers tease his nipple.

Finn nips at Poe's bottom lip with his smile, then ducks his head to put his mouth on the point of Poe's collarbone. He trails it, wet, along the wing, then drops down further to lick a stripe from Poe's navel to the hollow of his throat. Poe groans. Finn has one hand curled over Poe's shoulder, now, the other clutching his hip, and they tighten when he gets level with Poe's face again.

"Hey," says Poe, as Finn's hand trails up to rest over his heart. "Wanna show me yours, too?"

"Huh?" says Finn, busy kissing the corner of Poe's mouth.

"Your shirt," says Poe, tugging the hem lightly. "Can I-- "

"Oh," says Finn, leaning back. "Yes, yeah, let's-- please."

He lifts his arms so Poe can tug it up and off, joining his own somewhere on the floor. Poe looks at him, drinks him in, hands resting lightly on his hips. Finn is broad and muscled and gorgeous, already a little damp, skin shining in the low light. Poe kisses him again, because he can't not.

Finn's hands steal back into his hair as they kiss, his hips pressing his erection into Poe's abs, and Poe whispers, "You want to get off on me? Like this?" Finn makes the most delicious, desperate noise, gasping against Poe's mouth, and Poe says, "Yeah," and, "Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? I won't mind, just-- I just want you to feel good, sweetheart."

He tugs Finn's sleep pants down enough that his cock jumps free, hard and wet, trailing smears of precome over the bare skin low on Poe's belly. Poe presses his palms into the dip of Finn's lower back, fingertips digging into the swell of his ass, urging him forward, guiding the helpless ebb and flow of his hips. "Just like that," he murmurs. "Just like that, Finn. You feel so good."

Finn groans, tugging on Poe's curls and trying to kiss him harder, get closer, crawl under his skin.

Poe can barely breathe, from the kisses and the arousal and the affection squeezing tight inside his chest. His fingers brush across the bottom of the scar on Finn's back, raised and rough against the wide expanse of otherwise butter-smooth skin. He closes his eyes and lets himself smile into Finn's mouth, lets himself thumb the corners of the scar and think that it's a good thing, now, another thing that makes Finn his, anchors him here in this moment and this place, another thing that makes him beautiful, his bravery and loyalty and life etched into his skin.

Finn echoes his smile, between gasps, and Poe digs his hands in harder, thinks of scars and smiles and their supernova collision in Finn, an explosion of his experiences bursting into something infinitely more wonderful, more precious. He hopes Finn knows this; hopes he thinks it was all worth it, too. He thinks maybe he does, maybe the sharp tugs on Poe's hair and the hot clutch of his thighs and the wet smear of his swollen erection mean he knows, mean he's somewhere good, somewhere he wants to be, wants to stay. 

And even if they don't, Poe will show him. He'll make it worth it.

"Finn," he whispers, "Finn, buddy, sweetheart, come on. Come for me. Let go."

Finn does, with the loveliest little whine, mouth going slack against Poe's as he comes onto his skin. Poe finally gets a hand on him to work him through it, and thinks next time, _next time_ , because Finn is hot and thick and slick in his palm, and he wants more, wants everything.

The noise Finn makes sounds like he agrees with this sentiment, and Poe lets go of his cock, reluctantly, to catch him in an embrace as he slumps against Poe's chest. 

"Okay?" he says into Finn's hair.

Finn hums. "Yes," he says, lips catching on Poe's neck. "I-- _Poe_."

"Yeah," agrees Poe.

Finn shifts a little, and Poe catches a hiss between his teeth. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that he's hard too, that his pants are still on and he needs something, even if only his own hand.

"Are _you_ okay?" says Finn, leaning back a little to look him in the eye. His lids are heavy, sated, and he's damp high up on his cheeks. 

"I'm fine," says Poe, then corrects himself immediately. "I'm _great_. Just, you know."

Finn's brows furrow, confused for a moment before his eyes drop to Poe's lap. "Oh," he says. " _Oh_. Poe, I'm sorry, I didn't-- I couldn't _think_ , I should have-- I'm sorry, do you want-- "

"Hey, no," says Poe. "I can't imagine anything better, come on."

Finn smiles at him, slow. "Yeah?" he says.

"Yeah," says Poe firmly.

"Huh," says Finn. His hands slide down Poe's chest again. "Well, let's see if I can change that."

His fingers pause on the flies of Poe's pants, and his smile, still so warm, turns mischievous.

Poe is so, so done for. 

"Finn," he tries, voice weak, "You don't-- "

"I _want_ to," says Finn, with so much conviction Poe can't doubt him for a second.

"Well," he says, trying to smirk, "In that case, do your worst."

"I'll do my best," says Finn, "Because I love you, and you deserve it."

Yeah, thinks Poe, heart constricting. Done for.

It feels like flying. It feels fantastic.


End file.
